Writing

I guzzled the last beer from the mini-fridge, slammed the empty can on the bar, and crushed it with my sledge hammer. Content continues after advertisement Melissa hated my man-cave. It was no surprise that, when her father died, she announced weâd be converting my only place of escape into …

Trained by reading hundreds of submissions, editors and agents often make their read/not-read decision on the first page. In a customarily formatted book manuscript with chapters starting about 1/3 of the way down the page (double-spaced, 1-inch margins, 12-point type), there are 16 or 17 lines on the first page. …

She slept like a comma under the comforter; he slept like a corpse on top. She was open like sunflowers; he retreated like a shrinking one. They were both still young. She believed in language; he believed in numbers. Five years ago, language and numbers merged and became a unifying …

I ran into this delicious exchange in a clientâ€™s manuscript the other day.Â Rosemarie, a young virgin, is being seduced by the one eyed man.Â She distrusts him, sheâ€™s frightened, and sheâ€™s awash in guilt for the physical attraction she feels toward him. â€˜No,â€™ said Rosemarie. â€˜This isnâ€™t right.â€™ â€˜No …

Seeing your book on the silver screen: itâs a universal dream, one that nearly every novelist Iâve worked with has confided that they harbor. Â Barely a day goes by when an author does not ask me whether I have any Hollywood connections who could help them get a foot in …

I read the email through five times before I clicked send. I found myself checking for grammar just to be sure I sounded the superior party. Petty, but true. Should I end with ‘sincerely’, a nasty little spike to the addressee’s heart? Oh, yes, I’m SO sincere in spitting on …

Raphael “HÃ´tel Voirbo” at Creative Commons Writer sometimes must leave the safety and comfort of her home. And in doing so, must stay at unfamiliar and strange places where millions and millions of others have stayed, leaving behind their skin droppings and whatnot. A writer writes to empty the over-active …

âMommy, look at his big head!â Content continues after advertisement Nothing was held sacred, not even the head of a chief judge on a Sunday morning. The judge was going bald; sprinkles of white salted his temples dotting their way round to the tips where the hair stopped just short …

photo adapted / Horia Varlan We pulled up to the gate at Utahâ€™s Arches National Park in an imprudent touring vehicle: a loaded U-Haul van. This would be our only sightseeing detour on the trek that would take my sister from her home in California to a new job on …

It was one of those days in the middle of spring that come along to humble you and remind you that Mother Nature is the ultimate ego; spitting and crying at once, soaking you and freezing you and making you walk with your shoulders up around your ears and the …